Monday, November 29, 2010

For weeks now, Clarissa and I have wanted to go to visit Richard's grave; to take something there; to make a small ceremony; to reconnect with him somehow. We'd had a few ideas but neither of us seemed to have time; life kept getting in the way and I guess we were both a bit scared of being even sadder.A few weeks ago we'd had a wonderful day in the woods collecting pine cones; reminiscing; crying and laughing. It was one of the loveliest days so far. We came home and made a wreath from the pinecones and it's been sitting outside Clarissa's house making us both feel guilty for ages now.Finally tonight we managed some time together and a more perfect night couldn't have been imagined. It's been snowing heavily here for a couple of days now so it was a quiet white world that we stepped out into. We'd searched high and low at Clarissa's house for a torch but couldn't find one so we ended up with lanterns throwing swinging lights ahead of us. We walked down to the Church and through the lychgate, past the bell tower and down the slippery slope that leads to the grave yard. We stumbled over the bumps in the snow and found Richard's grave. We placed the wreath at his head and cried, and then laughed and then cried some more, did a bit of shouting at God and various other people, laughed and cried some more and then lit two sky lanterns that drifted up quite fast past the church spire and on toward Bridgham.And now after searching and searching for the things that makes me feel a tiny bit better, I know what they are. It's tears and then laughter and then more tears with a truly great friend. That's all it takes.

Monday, November 15, 2010

After the last very sad post posted from bed with a cold (or as Richard would say "in bed with the wog that's going round"), I thought we could all do with a bit of fun. Without further ado, I bring you a very small person who knows how to have fun even all by himself in a puddle...

Friday, November 12, 2010

In these last days back from France, I've plummeted up and down. It was both hard and good to be in La Fosse de Tigne. Liz was a complete star though and surfed on the waves right alongside of me. But all things come to an end and now it's back to Norfolk and reality for me and it's been a really hard time.I have been greatly comforted lately though by my beautiful friend Mardi who lost her wonderful Dad "Biggy" a while ago and has been a model of grace in grief if I ever needed one. Mard is the most wonderful photographer and also sent this photo of her Step-neice which has a perfect sense of peace about it.Mardi wrote to me about her experience of grief and I couldn't put it more eloquently so after receiving more of Mard's gracious permission, I bring you her amazing words......

I'm not sure that any words will help at this stage but I was reading an article in 'The Age' Good Weekend that Stephanie Dowrick wrote titled 'Grief and Consolation' and I thought of you. And having experienced loss myself I felt her words were ringing true for me too... She wrote : "Grief is extremely difficult for most of us to think ortalk about. It is also excruciating to bear. That makes it hard formany of us to know how to give comfort to others when they aregrieving. It may also make it difficult to receive comfort, even whenit is sorely needed."Stephanie goes on to explain that she has been reading a memoir by Virginia Lloyd called 'The young widow's book of home improvement'. A womanwho at age 32 met a lovely man, married him the following year then was a widow at age 34 !!She writes : "I have been transfixed by how skillfully Virginiacaptures the complex and sometimes wildly varying emotions that welump together and call grief. There is nothing predictable about thisstate of mind and heart. Even from one day to the next, but especiallyin the earliest weeks and months, devastating grief can display itselfin many different ways.Virginia writes 'At unexpected moments I found myself overpowered bya wave of grief that swamped without warning... On occasion these wavesfelled me: I dropped to the ground, slumped as if the puppet stringsI had been relying on to hold me up had failed.'The physicality of grief is shocking for many people.I've heard people say that it is as though their vital organs are wailing...Your body might hurt as much as your emotional heart. Food tasteslike chalk. Your sleep is chaotic, and so are your dreams and thoughts.It is difficult to concentrate and you may feel simultaneouslyhighly sensitive to other people and weirdly indifferent'.Stephanie Dowrick goes on to talk about a unique pattern of reactionas each of us will grieve in our own way. She says that rage and outrageat loss is often part of the process and can include a sense of injustice.Her final paragraph :"At any stage there is no right way to grieve, nor any one right way toconsole. Treating yourself compassionately and gently, and especiallyaccepting the unpredictability of grief's demands, helps a little.So does accepting the consolation and concern of others, even whentheir efforts are far from perfect."Now back to Mardi's words.In my own experience of grief I found those overpowering waves to be exhausting, unpredictable, debilitating, shocking and strangely calming afterwards. I had a strong image in my head of floating in the ocean, far out to sea, the waves appearing out of nowhere and crashing over my head. They were frequent and almost anything could trigger the next wave... but as the weeks passed the big waves started to come less often, still with the same amount of ferocity but more time would pass in between. I felt it as a kind of madness. I was equally sad and angry, furious really, that someone who meant so much to me could be gone. And it was incredibly physical, racked my body. It also made perfect sense that I could feel so sad but I was alone in it, felt that no-one really understood how I was feeling, even the people who were also grieving for the same loved one. We all have our own unique experience of that person and will grieve for them in our own way.What really helped me accept my Dad's passing was to take him withme.I had the idea that I ought to be able to let go, get over it, move on, blah blah, but I really didn't want to let him go... I was also judging myself in it, thinking I shouldn't be this sad or that it was going on quite a long time... So, instead of trying to let him go I started to imagine him with me, in the car or out somewhere I would imagine him enjoying the day as much as I was or think of him being around, close by. I carry him in my heart and he lives for me, in my memories and in my dreams. I miss him but still feel strongly connected. I'm comforted by that.The pain is something that you incorporate into a new life that is different from before. And from my experience, the sharpness of that pain softens as time goes by ; the experience of the loss doesn't disappear it just changes.

About Me

I started this blog when I moved to the UK with my husband Ricardo the Magnificent. After losing him to liver cancer in 2010 I decided to move back to my home town in Melbourne, Australia.
As political philosopher Thomas Paine would declare, "The world is my country, all mankind are my brethren and to do good is my religion".